Casualty
by TikiPrincess
Summary: Dean always expected to get a call for help from Sunnydale. He just never thought it would be Buffy on the other end. Because 1)she didn't need his help and 2)she died two years ago. Sequel to Vulnerability. Bridges the time between BtVS Season 7 finale and SPN series premiere.
1. Chapter 1: Dean

**Author's Note****: **This story is the sequel to _Vulnerability_. It starts at the two-part series finale of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_(2003) and contains major spoilers for the show. It also has a few minor spoilers and references to future events in _Supernatural_.

I also want to thank all of you who followed, faved, and reviewed _Vulnerability_. You guys are awesome, and I can't thank you enough for your support!

* * *

**Chapter 1: Dean**

Dean peeled the label off his empty beer bottle, wishing he could peel back time just as easily. Maybe he could have stopped the words from pouring out, could have stopped the argument that followed. Or maybe he would have just stopped himself from letting Cassie in. Stopped himself from falling for her.

He sucked in a breath, feeling the pain of her rejection, still so raw, a wrenching twist in his stomach. What did he expect, though? She was just a normal girl, a student reporter looking into the string of deaths on her college campus. And he'd been happy to let her do the research, watching her brow furrow as she tried to connect the pieces. She got the same look right before she—

Dean shook the thoughts from his head. It wouldn't do him any good remembering those moments. No, he should be thinking about the job. And the fact that _he'd_ chosen to leave Ohio even before she'd broken up with him. So what if he had wanted to stay? Family and the job came first. And, yeah, he could have given her at least a dozen other reasons, something that would have sounded far more believable than the truth. But he hadn't. He'd taken a risk, believed that her journalist's instincts would help her see what really happened. And even if she didn't realize that the supernatural world existed, he believed that she'd trust him. Because he thought she felt something for him. The way he felt about her.

Instead, she'd called him a lunatic and shoved him out the door.

_It's better this way_, he told himself. Girls like her shouldn't be with guys like him. He didn't do domestic. He needed the open road and shotguns and greasy truck stop food and Zeppelin on the radio. And he really needed another beer.

As he signaled the bartender, a voice called from the door, "Make it two."

Dean watched his father cross the room and settle onto the stool next to him. There was a moment of anticipation before he realized that Sammy wasn't going to poke him in the side for sitting straighter and squaring his shoulders whenever their dad was around. In fact, his little brother hadn't done that in almost two years.

He grabbed one of the bottles in front of him and gulped down a mouthful of beer, feeling the cool liquid loosen some of the tightness in his throat. "How'd it go?"

"Not too bad," Dad said, laying a thick manila folder onto the bar and picking up the other bottle, taking a quick swig before continuing. "Had to pull out the old Vietnam card before he'd trust me. The guy was para—"

The insistent ring of a cell phone cut him off. Dad pulled out his phone, but shook his head as the ringing continued. Dean reached into his pocket, feeling a little confused. There weren't many people who had his number since Dad was usually the point-of-contact for other hunters or leads on a job. Dean couldn't help feeling a twinge of hope as he glanced down at the screen, though he wasn't sure who he wanted to be on the other end – Sam or Cassie. A smile tugging at his lips as he recognized the number. "Be right back, sir."

His father gave him a curt nod and turned back to his beer.

"Dawnie, how'd you know I needed a little Summers' lovin'?" He chuckled at the lame joke, knowing that she'd groan the way she always did whenever he used it. Sure, she wasn't Sam or Cassie, but she was like this annoying little sister who could magically cheer him up whenever she called.

"Dean." Not Dawn. That definitely wasn't Dawn's voice on the other end. But it couldn't be _her_. That was impossible. "It's Buffy."

The ground lurched beneath him, and he stumbled back, his hand reaching out to touch the wall, to hold onto something solid now that the world had turned upside down. "Buffy… how—"

"I don't really have a lot of time to explain everything," she said. "Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but I need a favor. You're the only one I can trust with this."

He cleared his throat, swallowing down the words threatening to break through, the questions he wanted to ask. "What's going on?"

"We're up against something big. Xander's been injured. And I… I can't concentrate on the fight until I know Dawn's safe."

_Keep Dawn safe_. Wasn't that how she'd died in the first place? Took a nose dive off a fifty foot platform to close a portal to hell and stop the Apocalypse – again.

"They need to hide, fly under the radar," she continued. "I need you to show them how. I need your help, Dean."

God, he'd missed her voice. Hearing her again was almost like the past four years had never happened, like he was still that twenty-year-old kid, letting her sneak French fries off his plate. Which was stupid because their relationship had lasted a grand total of one week. Not his briefest encounter, but certainly nothing for the record books. He hadn't really thought about her much since she'd… died.

"Dean?"

He shook his head, clearing away the shock of her existence. Her voice had a hoarse, throaty quality that, if he remembered right, usually happened after she'd been crying. He dragged his mind away from the past and focused on the present. She was in trouble and needed his help. And he was going to make damned sure that he would be there this time instead of working a job in Montana.

"I can be in Sunnydale by tomorrow night if I head out now," he said, estimating the distance to California from Nebraska.

"No, not here," she said. "It's too dangerous. They need to leave tonight."

"Okay." There was only one other person he could trust to watch Dawn until he got there. It just wasn't a call he had ever expected to make. "Head north towards Palo Alto."

"Sam," she breathed. "O God, I forgot about Sam. He and Willow talked a lot when he first got to Stanford, but then she and Tara… Things got a little crazy here."

"Wouldn't be Sunnydale if they didn't." He forced out a chuckle, feeling unnerved by her tone. Buffy had already faced a few apocalyptic events by the time he met her, battles she recounted with witty humor and more than a little pride. Things had changed since then. She'd changed.

"Xander can call you later to find out where to meet Sam."

"I can set it up right now, give you a call back in a couple minutes." The prospect of talking to her again was only marred by the fact that he'd have to stop talking to her first. And he didn't want this conversation to end.

"No, it's – it's safer if I don't know where they are."

"Buffy, you're scaring me." He'd learned from last time that it was better not to ask questions, especially if he couldn't live with the answers. But he couldn't hold back any longer. "What's going on? It must be bad if I need to hide your sister from _you_. Is it Glory? Is she back? I can help."

"No, it's not Glory," she said. "And you _are_ helping. The best thing you can do is keep them safe. Maybe… maybe if everything works out, I'll find you again."

He heard the finality in her voice. She was saying goodbye. "Buffy, I never should have… I just wanted to say that I'm—"

"Andrew," she shrieked, "what did I tell you about knocking first?"

Dean felt his gut wrench. Of course she'd have someone in her life, someone to fight beside her. Someone who could make her life better, who didn't have all his hang-ups. Why would she wait around for a guy she hadn't talked to in almost four years?

"Tell Xander to call me when he gets on the road."

"I will. And, Dean," – he cursed the way his heart thumped when she said his name – "thank you."

Then she was gone, hanging up before he could respond.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the world to right itself. Deep breaths, in and out. It's not like he cared. Well, he cared, of course, but it was only because he felt guilty. She'd had to fight that hell-bitch Glory all by herself. And she hadn't necessarily been in the right frame of mind, losing her mom, trying to figure out how to take care of herself and protect her little sister. Not like him. He'd grown up taking care of Sammy. He knew how to deal. He could have helped.

If only he hadn't been so stubborn. If only he'd apologized sooner, then maybe he would have been with her, and she wouldn't have died, and he wouldn't be standing outside some shitty dive bar in The Middle of Nowhere, USA, assigned to babysit Dawn.

And if he drove straight through, only stopping to fill up on gas and snacks, he might even be in Sunnydale by tomorrow afternoon. He just had to figure out a way to convince Dad to let him take the Impala while avoiding any mention of Buffy.

It wasn't that his father disliked her. It was more that he despised the Watchers' Council, an organization of privileged, educated white British dudes who thought they were better than everyone else. Especially Hunters. And Slayers were an extension of the Council, a weapon, a disposable tool to do their bidding. At least that's what his father believed. But Buffy had cut ties with the Council before she even met the Winchesters. Not that it ever stopped her from being the hero or from saving the world. She just did it on her own terms. It was one of the things he loved about her.

"How's the Summers girl?"

Dean started, his eyes flying open. "Hey, Dad."

"Had to be Dawn, right?" said Dad. "Her, Bobby, and Sam are the only ones that know your number. And you haven't heard from Sammy in a while."

"Yeah, it was Dawn." Dean could see the disappointment in his father's eyes. It had been two years since Sam had walked away, two years without a word from him. "She's, um, doing the college tour thing and wanted to check out Stanford. Told her I'd get in touch with Sam and make sure he showed her a good time."

Dad nodded, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "But not too good, right?" He dug into his pocket and tossed his keys to Dean. "Gimme a lift to the motel before you leave."

"What about you?"

"Sioux Falls is only a few hours from here. Bobby can drive my truck down."

"What about the job?"

"It's nothing I can't handle," he said, climbing into the passenger seat. "Dean?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You let me know if he's doing okay. Let me know if he needs anything."

"I will, Dad."

"Good, son. Good." He turned away, staring out the window as they drove back to their room.

o)O(o

Dean checked his watch as he pulled up to the gas pump. Xander should have called by now. Not that he had anything to report. He'd left about a dozen messages on Sam's phone during the five hour drive to Denver and still hadn't heard anything back.

He had to make a decision now, though. The southern route through Vegas was the fastest way to Sunnydale. And that's where he really wanted to be. Buffy said she was up against something big this time, and she didn't sound very optimistic. So she was going to need all the help she could get. If he had to do it alongside this Andrew guy, he would. He would be there for her, as a fighter, or a friend, or whatever, because he wasn't going to let her die this time. Not if he could be there to save her.

Then again, she'd specifically asked him to keep her little sister safe. It showed how much she trusted him, despite the time and distance between them. He understood, maybe better than any of her friends, how important Dawn was to her, how serious this task was. Because Sammy was just as important to him, and he would do anything he could to keep his little brother safe. Even if it meant letting him go, letting him have that normal college life.

Dean topped off his tank, staring at the intersection in front of the station. If only there were some way that he could do both. If he could keep Dawn safe and fight beside Buffy. If he could see her again, hold her and know that she was real and alive in his arms again.

He didn't need a record book to tell him how he felt about Buffy. That one week with her had changed his life forever, in a way that no other woman could compare. Not even Cassie, the woman who he thought had broken his heart a few days ago. But it never occurred to him that he'd get a second chance with Buffy. He never thought he'd get the chance to tell her the words he'd said over her grave.

Dean knew what he had to do. When it came down to it, there really wasn't a choice. He got into the Impala and pulled onto the street. He drove through the intersection without hesitation, knowing that this road would take him exactly where he needed to be.

o)O(o

"Dean?"

Dean lifted his head and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Hey there, Sammy."

"What— How—" Sam's backpack landed with a thud. "What are you doing in my dorm room?"

"Not even a hello for your big brother?"

Sam smiled and strode across the room, pulling Dean into a fierce hug. Dean was surprised to see that his brother wasn't so little anymore. They'd been about the same height when Sam left, but he looked like he'd gained two inches since then.

"So, how are you?" asked Sam, pulling a chair over from the desk. "Is Dad with you?"

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. "Haven't you gotten any of my messages?"

"It's finals week. I turned off my phone so I wouldn't get distracted."

"Dammit, Sammy, what have I told you about that? Phone is always on, and you check your messages at least once a day."

"For what? For Dad to call and ask if I've passed all my classes this year? Or for you to find out how my last date went? All the people who've called me in the last two years know that I'm in the middle of finals and need to study."

"Phone works two ways, you know," Dean said, shaking his head. Sure, he could have called. But then he'd have to hear about Sam's new friends and new life and realize that his little brother was doing fine without him. "Look, I'm not here to argue. I'm here because I got a call from Buffy yesterday."

"Dean—"

"I know it's insane, but it's true." He could see the disbelief in Sam's eyes. "She asked me to watch out for Xander and Dawn, and I told them to come here first."

"Why here?"

"They needed a place to stay until I could come get them. You were the closest hunter I could trust."

"Dean, I'm not—"

"Just because you turned your back on the life doesn't mean you've forgotten how to be a hunter," he said, pulling out a small box from under Sam's bed. It held a silver knife and a few other objects that couldn't be hidden in plain sight, unlike the canister of salt and the decorative bottle that undoubtedly contained holy water. "Besides, Dawnie would love to spend some quality time with you."

"Don't remind me," said Sam, rolling his eyes. "So where are they?"

"Well, since I couldn't get a hold of you to find out where you live, I was going to do the whole 'first motel in the phonebook' thing. But Xander never checked in. I can't get in touch with either of them. I was hoping they called you directly."

"Hang on, I'll check right now." Sam opened his desk drawer and pulled out his phone, turning it back on. "God, how many messages did you leave me?"

Dean waited, drumming his fingers on his knee, as Sam held the phone to his ear, occasionally tapping the keys. Finally, he looked up and shook his head.

"Look, Dean, are you sure it was Buffy?"

"It's been a while, but I'm pretty sure I remember her voice."

"I know that she was important to you. But she's dead, Dean. There's no coming back from that. Not as a human, anyways." Sam looked at him, his eyes full of sympathy. "Besides, don't you think someone would have told us if she came back? I mean, I kinda lost touch with the Scoobies, but you still talk to Xander and Dawn, right?"

"Yeah. It's been a couple of months, though." Aside from Sam, Xander was the closest thing to a best friend that Dean had. But they were friends the way that guys are friends, calling each other to complain about work and women, occasionally mixing it up with a movie recommendation. And he was Buffy's friend first. "Maybe they had a good reason for keeping it secret."

"And maybe it wasn't Buffy. What if it was a creature trying to mess with your head? Like a siren or a – a crocatta?"

"That thing that eats people's souls?"

"It can mimic voices. It usually chooses the voice of someone you love." There was that tone again, full of sympathy and pity. Dean swore that if Sam started patting his arm, he was gonna break something. Possibly his brother's nose.

"Well, the voice brought me here. You gonna go all dementor on me?"

"No. But maybe it wanted to get you away from Dad."

"Stupid move. Dad's just as good a hunter by himself as he is with me. Besides, Bobby drove the truck down so I could take the Impala. I don't think there's a creature on Earth that could stand up against the two of them working together. Except maybe each other."

Sam chuckled, probably remembering the last time that Dad and Bobby had worked a case together. Not that they didn't get along. They were great friends until they started arguing about who was in charge.

"So what's your plan now?"

"Head down to Sunnydale." Dean chewed his bottom lip, debating with himself. "To be honest, I came here first because it's what she asked me to do. But I was gonna pawn off the babysitting duties onto you and go to Sunnydale anyways."

"You were going to leave me alone with Xander and Dawn? Don't get me wrong, I like Xander, but he's got the maturity of a thirteen-year-old. He's like the class clown version of you. And Dawn… dude, she's a kid with a crush! I don't want her mooning over me while I'm trying to study for finals."

"I even had this elaborate story to explain things to your roommate, but look at you. Got a room all to yourself," he said with a smirk. "Couldn't convince anyone to put up with your stinky feet and night terrors?"

"One of the perks of being a Resident Advisor is having your own room."

"Sounds like a sweet deal."

"It's something I've never had before," Sam said softly, looking down at the floor.

Dean looked around the room again, at the way Sam inhabited this space. There were posters on the walls and little knickknacks that would have taken up precious space in a duffle bag. He'd been right. His little brother was doing fine without him. "Come with me, Sam."

"To Sunnydale?"

"I could use your help."

"I've still got one final left!"

"Say it's a family emergency. They'd let you go for that, right?"

"This isn't high school, Dean," he said, pulling his face into a tight-lipped frown. "I have to file for an extension and talk to my professor. Plus, if I don't keep up my GPA, I'll lose my scholarship."

"They're your friends too, Sammy. At least, they were."

"That's not fair. _I_ was the one still talking to Buffy when _you_ wouldn't have anything to do with her."

"So come with me."

Sam groaned and rubbed his hand across his face. "What if we leave tomorrow afternoon? I'll be done with my final around two. We can leave right after."

"A lot can happen in twenty-four hours."

"Look, we don't even know if it really is Buffy."

Dean sighed. Despite his belief that he'd spoken to her yesterday, Sam brought up a valid argument. And he'd only slept a couple of hours in the last two days. He'd need to be in top condition if he was going to be of any use. "Okay. But I'm taking the bed. And your meal card."

"It's my room, Dean!" Sam shook his head as he pulled out his wallet. "Actually, this works out 'cause I've got a summer internship at a law firm down in L.A."

"A law firm, huh?"

"Don't start. It's a paid internship, and those are really hard to come by."

"Whatever, dude." Dean plucked the plastic card from his brother's hand. "I'm getting' me some pie."

o)O(o

It should have been an easy five-hour drive. They should have gotten there last night just in time for dinner or the first round of beating back the undead. Hell, they probably would have done both.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean leaned against his car, parked at the edge of a crater that used to be a town called Sunnydale. The setting sun bathed the rubble in a fiery orange light. "It's not your fault, Sammy."

"Maybe there wouldn't have been so much traffic if we left when you wanted to. Then the car wouldn't have overheated, and we would have been here instead of twiddling our thumbs off the 101."

"There's no way to tell if this happened today or three days ago." Dean took a few steps forward and peered down. It was at least a ten-foot drop to the ground below. "Maybe this is why they never called, or why I could never reach them."

"Do you think… what do you think happened?"

Dean's eyes followed the road, turned left at the light, and right onto Revello Drive. He remembered the moonlight streaming in through her bedroom window, the curve of her lips, the softness of her skin, the sunshine in her hair. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. "Well, you're still here, and I'm still here, so I'm guessing it wasn't the end of the world. But it looks like it was pretty damn close."

"I'm really sorry, Dean."

"It wasn't your fault, Sammy." He walked back to the car and gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze. "Let's get you to L.A."

* * *

_Up Next -_ **Buffy: **She hadn't just survived the battle, she'd changed the world. Now she just had to figure out how to live in it.


	2. Chapter 2: Buffy

**Chapter 2: Buffy**

Buffy linked her fingers with his, feeling warmth in his touch for the first time. And when he looked down into her eyes, she finally felt that thing that had been missing in her life for so long.

"I love you," she'd said.

But Spike, in his annoyingly perceptive way, knew the truth. That thing that she felt, that she'd mistaken for love, was just… a feeling. She'd dropped her walls, accepted his love with no obligations or pressure for reciprocation. She allowed herself to feel. To care. To connect, even if it was only for the last few fleeting moments of his life.

Now she lay in the safety of a darkened motel room, feeling the dull, throbbing pain of her stomach wound. And nothing else.

The day had passed by in such a blur that she hadn't really had time to process everything. In fact, she couldn't really remember anything after she'd said her final goodbye to Sunnydale and stepped onto the bus. Was it only this morning that they'd battled The First? Was it still the same day?

She swung her legs gingerly over the edge of the bed and sat up, mindful of her wound. Thankfully, her supernatural healing had already begun to kick in, making the pain bearable enough that she didn't cry out as she stood. Taking a few careful steps, she hobbled towards the window and pulled open the drapes. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the pale white glow of fluorescent lights as she took in the view of the motel parking lot. The big, yellow Sunnydale High school bus stood out, even though it was at the far edge. She wondered where they were and what lies they'd told to get rooms here.

Wherever they were, she hoped they were staying. Faith's idea of sleeping for a week sounded like a good one. In fact, she'd be more than happy to stay in bed for two.

She turned away from the window and headed towards the bathroom, using the motel furniture to steady herself as she made her way across the room. _Come on_, she thought. _You ran along rooftops and jumped onto a moving bus just minutes after being stabbed. You can make it another five feet._

A wave of pain washed over her, and she gripped the edge of the dresser, nails digging into the surface. Although it passed quickly, it left her body weakened. Her trembling legs were struggling to support her weight, even though her fingers had just left half-inch deep gouges in the wood. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she moved past the dresser to lean against the wall.

"Shouldn't someone check on Buffy?" said a muffled voice. It sounded like Xander. The others must be in the next room.

"We can't do anything more for her," Willow said. "She should rest until Angel's med team gets here."

Angel had a medical team? It must be one of the fancy perks of his new job being the CEO of a law firm that catered to demons. Not that she should be complaining. If it hadn't been for that fancy necklace he'd given her, she would still be fighting back the uber-vamps. Or she'd be dead.

"Look, I know we wanted to wait until Buffy was awake to decide what to do next," said Giles, ever the picture of British rationale and decorum, "but perhaps we could discuss the issue amongst ourselves before presenting the options to her."

Buffy bit back a growl of frustration. He was still doing it. He gave her the illusion of choice, even though he didn't trust her to make the right decision. He still treated her like that fifteen-year-old girl who'd walked into his library, the Slayer who'd lost her Watcher almost as soon as her training had begun, who'd lost her friends, her home, her father. Herself.

It's not that she didn't appreciate him. In fact, it was hard for her to remember her life before she'd met Giles. He wasn't just her Watcher. He was more than a mentor who taught her how to be a Slayer, how to think and fight and kill. He was the one she turned to for advice about life and love, especially when the burden of being the Slayer was getting too much. He was the one who remembered her birthday, who chose to fight beside her even though it cost him his job.

But he was also the one who'd abandoned her when she needed him the most. He'd left while she was still dealing with the trauma of her death and resurrection, not to mention trying to raise Dawn, even though she was only a teenager herself. On top of that, she had to deal with the financial fallout of their mother's hospital and funeral bills with no job experience and only one year of college under her belt. Okay, technically, it was one and a half, but it still wasn't a degree. And, really, could she blame him? Her own father hadn't been willing to commit to that level of responsibility. How could she expect Giles to?

Except she thought he would. She thought she could depend on him because he was Giles, and he was more than just a Watcher to her. She thought she was more than just his Slayer.

When he returned, it was only in an official capacity. He flew in, saved Willow, and whisked her to England to recuperate. But she wasn't the only one affected by Tara's death. She wasn't the only one who felt guilty about bad choices or overwhelmed by all the changes going on in her life. She was the one who mattered, though. Willow had always been his favorite.

He came back again, months later, with a bunch of Potential Slayers in tow. And left them in her care while he scoured the world for more survivors. He'd trusted her to teach them, the way he'd taught her. But he hadn't prepared her for that hardship, of watching them struggle and make mistakes, of calming their doubts when she was so full of her own. He hadn't prepared her for the pain of watching them die.

Worst of all, he questioned her abilities, second-guessing her up until the very end. Over what? Spike? Angelus had done far worse to him. Not only had he tortured Giles, he'd killed Miss Calendar, the only woman he'd had a real relationship with in the whole time that Buffy had known him. But he continued to work with Angel all through her senior year, even keeping his presence secret that first Thanksgiving after he broke her heart and moved to L.A. Spike, meanwhile, had fought beside Giles far more often than he'd fought against him. And he was much more straightforward in his approach. He didn't play psychotic games. If he didn't like you, he'd just try to kill you. Even then, he very rarely succeeded.

Spike with a soul, however, seemed to be more troublesome to Giles, who even went so far as to orchestrate a diversion to give Robin the opportunity to torture and kill him. No matter how often Buffy vouched for him, no matter how many times he proved that he was on their side, for example, not killing Robin after said torture and attempted murder, Giles refused to trust him, and Buffy by extension. She wondered if he would trust her judgment now that Spike had proven to be a champion, sacrificing himself to defeat the Turok-Han and close the Hellmouth.

In fact, when it came down to it, Buffy had very little to do with their victory against The First Evil. If it hadn't been for Angel's magic amulet and Spike's sacrifice, they would have been defeated. Even after Willow's spell activated the Potentials turning them into full-blown Slayers, they had struggled to hold the line. And that was only against a fraction of the hordes trying to pass through the Seal. If anything, using the Scythe had only bought Spike time for the amulet to work.

Buffy's eyes searched the room, seeking the red and silver glint on steel. Her weapon. The one she'd used to split Caleb in two, to fight back The First's minions, to unleash the power of the Slayer and change the world. The Scythe.

She found herself reaching for it, unaware of the space and pain it took to get there. All she knew was that holding it made her feel more powerful, more sure of herself. She could feel her Slayer's instincts welling up inside, like an adrenaline rush surging through her body. But it was so much more. It was like calling to like, the essence of the demon embodied in the warrior and her weapon.

The Scythe fell to the floor with a muffled thud.

She'd been the Slayer since she was fifteen, and it had cost her her friends, her family, her education. Hell, it had cost her her life – twice! Now that she knew where her power came from, what the Shadow Men had done to imbue the First Slayer with the strength and speed and agility to fight demons, she whole-heartedly wished she could reject it.

Her gaze drifted to the wall. Her friends and her sister waited on the other side, waited for her to wake up, to help lead them in the next mission, the next angst-filled chapter of their lives. In Sunnydale, she'd been tied to the Hellmouth, charged with its protection from those who sought to unleash its power. But the Seal was closed, buried beneath a town full of rubble. And now, she wasn't the only Slayer.

o)O(o

Opening the window with any degree of stealth proved to be much harder than she expected. By the time she managed it, the Scythe's influence had worn off, and she was starting to feel the pain of her wound. Another day or two of rest, and she would have been good as new, or at least close to functioning, but time was something she couldn't afford to waste. Unable to find a duffle bag, she stuffed a pillowcase full of towels and sheets. Just as she was about to curse herself for forgetting to bring a purse to the Apocalypse, she remembered that she'd slipped her wallet in her jacket to make it easier to identify her body if they failed.

She opened the closet and pulled her jacket from the hanger, reaching into the inner pocket. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips as her fingertips brushed the soft leather of her wallet. She took it out, adding its contents to her mental inventory. Her driver's license, thirty bucks, and oh! a hidden twenty. A picture of her mom and Dawn. Another picture of her, Xander, and Willow.

She glanced at the wall again, at the murmur of voices, so achingly familiar. Running away hadn't solved her problems before. Could she really do that to them again? Could she really leave Dawn behind?

Memories filtered through her mind. Dawn as a fat little baby just after Dad brought Mom back from the hospital. Her round face covered in makeup when Buffy had decided that she was tired of practicing on dolls and needed a live model. The look in her eyes, full of fear and trust, as she stepped onto the ice for the first time, clutching Buffy's hand. The tears and the blood when she found out that the memories were fake, that her past had been an illusion. Tears and blood again when Buffy had said goodbye and leapt to her death.

Despite all the trauma she'd experienced in her short life, both fictitious and real, Dawn had grown up to be an intelligent, strong-willed, and resourceful young woman. And Buffy sure as hell knew that she couldn't take any credit for it. Or maybe it was because of her negligence that Dawn had learned to rely on herself. Either way, she'd had the courage to kick Buffy out of the house when everyone else had agreed that it was the best course of action.

_Well screw that_, thought Buffy as she climbed out the window. She'd never wanted to lead. She'd only wanted to protect them. And now they had dozens of Slayers to choose from. She could finally have the life that she wanted. She could finally be free.

o)O(o

"Shouldn't you be resting, B?"

Buffy groaned. It was ten feet of open space to the curb, ten feet to freedom. "Faith, you have this really bad habit of showing up when I least want you around."

"Excuse me?"

She heard the heavy tread of biker boots behind her, and she tensed, readying herself for a fight. Faith's hand clamped down on her shoulder. She spun around to face her rival – and gasped as pain blossomed from her center.

"Seriously, Buffy," said Faith, moving quickly to Buffy's side and slipping an arm under her shoulders, "you are in no condition to go for a walk."

Faith guided her to a nearby truck and set her down on the rear bumper. Buffy tried to nonchalantly drop her makeshift travel bag, as if it wasn't full of everything she had left in the world.

"Thanks, but I think I'll be okay now."

"If you're gonna do the waitressing thing again," Faith said, taking a seat next to Buffy, "do it at a bar. The divier the better."

"What?"

"The money's better than waitin' tables. Dive bars are less likely to ask for proof that you can work, and they'll pay you cash at the end of the night."

Buffy looked over at Faith and was surprised to see the worry in her eyes. She remembered that they'd been friends once, that they'd fought back-to-back and then danced at the Bronze late into the night. But that was before Faith went crazy enough to give Angelus a run for his money. That was before she'd tried to take everything from Buffy, including her body. And she'd done it again, swooped in, right when things were serious, to shake up the chain of command and remind everyone that Buffy wasn't the only Slayer. She was just the only boring one.

"Another thing, and you're probably not going to like this one, but there's always a guy out there who wants to buy you stuff. Let him."

"Faith! I'm not going to whore myself out."

"I never said you have to give him anything in return," she said, shaking her head. "If a guy's stupid enough to think he can buy your affection, then he deserves to be used."

"I can't just use people."

"Why not?" Faith fished around in her pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She took a long drag, and then let it out, smoke billowing from her lips. "It's the way of the world, B. Someone's always using someone. You gotta make sure you're the one using and not the one being used."

"Wisdom from the penitentiary?"

"Nah," said Faith, the corner of her lip curving in the ghost of a real smile, "that's from growin' up on the streets of South Boston. And you're gonna need it out there."

"So… you're not going to try to stop me?" Buffy hoped Faith couldn't hear the tinge of disappointment in her voice. It's not that she wanted to stay, she just wanted the others to want her to stay.

"I get it, B." She stood up, taking another hit off her cigarette. "What they did to you? Kicking you out of your own home? That was – that was some messed up shit. Y'all got issues that need workin' out. Maybe some distance will help you guys, I dunno, not kill each other? And _that_ is some prison wisdom for you."

Buffy laughed. And then she sucked in her breath as the pain washed over her. "No more jokes."

"You got it," Faith said, wincing. "Look, what you did, coming back? That was the right thing to do, the hero thing. The Buffy thing. We needed you, and you were there because you're the Slayer and that's your job. And we all know that I sure as hell couldn't do it."

She turned her head, lifting the cigarette to her lips again. But her hand brushed the corner of her eye before it reached its destination.

"Faith, that trap wasn't your fault."

"You said that before." Faith took another shaky breath, steadying herself. "Anyways, what I'm trying to say is – you don't have to be the hero anymore. We've got dozens of girls back there to help carry that burden. Hundreds, maybe thousands, more if Willow can find them. You don't have to be the One."

"I wasn't the only One," she said, reaching out and squeezing Faith's hand. "We were the Chosen Two for a pretty long time."

"Except I turned to the Dark Side and killed a guy. And I helped the Mayor Ascend so he could eat you and the rest of your graduating class, tried to seduce Angel, tried to _kill_ Angel, and tortured my old Watcher Wesley."

She really had changed. After Spike regained his soul, he'd gone half-mad as he tried to reconcile his conscience to what he'd done as a vampire. He remembered every life he'd taken, every hurt he'd been responsible for. It left him haunted, and Buffy could see the same look in Faith's eyes. "I blame Xander. He has a way of attracting evil things."

"I never should have taken his precious, precious flower."

"No jokes!" Buffy clutched her stomach, pretending to be in pain. Too bad her smile gave her away.

"Come on, B." Faith scooped the pillowcase off the floor and helped Buffy to her feet. "I don't have any cash, but I can show you how to hotwire a car. You need to look for an older model, the older the better. Newer models have alarms and computers and anti-theft thingies."

"Or you could come with me." She reached up and tucked one of Faith's brown locks back into place. "We should have been friends, you and I. Instead of… whatever it is we are."

"We _are_ friends, Buffy," said Faith. She took Buffy's hand and clasped it between her own. "But you've got to make this journey on your own. Figure things out. And when you come back, it'll be on _your_ terms, when _you're_ ready, instead of rushing back to save our asses."

Faith let go and turned away, walking towards an old blue sedan. Buffy followed a few steps behind, feeling dejected. Having Faith at her side would have made running away so much easier. She was a survivor, she'd do whatever it took to make it through the day so she could get to the next. But Buffy was a martyr. The last person she wanted to save was herself.

"Hey, Faith?"

"Too easy." She pointed to the window on the passenger's side, which was only down a few centimeters. "Grab the antenna."

Buffy unscrewed the antenna and handed it to Faith. "Promise me you'll keep an eye on Dawn?"

"I promise." She slipped the thin metal through the opening and pushed the "Unlock" button. "Way I hear it, she gets kidnapped every other week."

"I guess you read the recaps."

Faith opened the door and went to work on the steering column. "Got the Andrew version and compared it to whatever hints you guys dropped. Figured out which parts were true and which ones were just Andrew."

"He does have a flair for embellishment."

"Alright, B," she said, holding out two wires, "when you touch the ends of these two wires, it should start the car."

Buffy brought the wires together. There was a spark, and then the engine started. "Are you sure you can't come?"

"I'm sure." Faith popped open the glove box and rummaged through, pulling out maps and papers. "I've got one more thing I can give you though. Hah, a pen! If you ever get to Philly, you look up Lonnie Hamerman at this number. He'll get you a new name and a new background. There are a lot of baddies out there lookin' for Buffy Summers."

"Thanks, Faith. For everything."

"You got it, sis." She leaned forward and pressed a quick, hard kiss to Buffy's forehead. Then she was out the door, a dark figure in the car's rear-view mirror.

* * *

_Up next: _**Dawn** - What will they do now that the fellowship is broken?

**A/N: **Thanks again for all the love! I'm going to try to update once a week, but I can't make any promises.


	3. Chapter 3: Dawn

**Chapter 3: Dawn**

Dawn shoveled another scoopful of ice into one of the flimsy motel room buckets. She wished, once again, that she had been one of the Potentials. Except this time, she could care less about being special or having time to bond with her sister. Nope, now that they were all fully activated Slayers, she wanted their super duper healing powers. Every inch of her body was sore – even though she'd been training for the better part of a year, longer if she counted those times she'd been able to bug Spike into teaching her a few tricks. Vi, on the other hand, was running towards her as if they hadn't just fought their way through the Apocalypse six hours ago.

"Got more plastic bags," Vi said, waving her cache triumphantly. "The manager said she didn't realize that field hockey was such a brutal sport. Did you get the duct tape?"

"Yeah," said Dawn, nodding to a roll sitting on top of the ice machine. She'd wondered how Giles had explained the school bus full of injured girls. "You wanna grab a few buckets while I—"

Vi deftly stacked and scooped up the eight buckets at Dawn's feet. "Anything else?"

"You're really gettin' the hang of being a Slayer, aren't you?"

"It's great," she said, chattering as Dawn finished filling the last bucket and then started down the walkway to their rooms. "You know, I was sort of clumsy before. I mean, I'd always land on my feet, but I'd trip over everything, and now I have this hyperawareness of where things are, so even if I do trip, which I won't, but if I did, I bet I would still be able to catch all of the ice before any of it touched the ground."

Dawn smiled. Vi reminded her of another babbly redhead. But the Willow that Dawn had met almost eight years ago, shy and reserved and totally un-Buffy, wasn't the Willow who had cast that spell today. Kennedy said she'd gotten all glowy and white. That she looked like a goddess.

Then again, Kennedy wasn't necessarily the most reliable source. She sort of had a weird obsession with Willow. Dawn got that they were the only two lesbians in the house, so why not pair up? At least, she thought they were the only ones. Maybe some of them just weren't as open about it. Anyways, with the end of the world coming, no one wanted to be alone. Understandable. But Kennedy was so pushy. Like kicking girls out of Willow's room when there was barely any floor space left. Or using her relationship as an automatic invite to Scooby Gang stuff when it had taken Dawn years to prove to them that it was better to include her because she was just going to find out anyways.

She pulled out of her reverie just in time to avoid tumbling into Vi as she knocked on the door of their first stop. Giles opened it, ushering them into his room. Principal Wood lay unconscious on one of the beds, his bare chest wrapped in gauze, beads of sweat on his upper lip.

"How is he?" whispered Vi.

"Resting." He took the bucket Dawn was holding and disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a cold compress to replace the one on Principal Wood's forehead. "Xander came by earlier with some pain killers, and I've changed his bandages, applied antiseptic. However, until his fever breaks, there's really nothing more I can do."

Aside from Buffy and Willow, Giles was their best field medic, but Principal Wood had taken a nasty slash to the chest. And he was only human.

"He'll make it through," Giles said, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "He's the son of a Slayer, after all, and a fighter. Angel and his medical team will have him patched up in no time."

"I still don't understand," said Vi, setting her buckets down. "Why couldn't he come sooner? Isn't it only an hour to L.A.?"

"Well, you see, Angel, much like Spike—"

"He's a vampire with a soul that Buffy used to date," Dawn finished for him. "He's waiting until sundown to drive."

"Oh." Vi's eyebrows drew together. "So are there like a lot of vampires with souls? I mean, is that something I need to worry about before staking them?"

"As far as we know, it's just them two." Dawn's eyes dropped to the floor. "I guess there's just Angel now."

She wasn't sure how she felt about Spike. Yeah, she'd had a crush on him like a million years ago, but that was before she found out what he'd done, or tried to do, to her sister. Even though Buffy had obviously forgiven him for it, Dawn couldn't. No amount of soul-having and self-sacrificing could make up for what he did. Still… she was going to miss him.

"Is the medical team like a front for his vampire business?" Vi asked. "Like one of those mobile blood bank thingies?"

"No, he's actually the CEO of the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart. It's a law firm that specializes in representing demons." Giles took off his glasses and began polishing them vigorously. "They've been one of his major adversaries ever since he moved there. In fact, he's quite literally taken down some of their clients, which makes me wonder why, exactly, they would offer him a position in their company, much less a position of power."

"You don't think we can trust him?" Dawn knew that having Angel as an ally had always been a double-edged sword. Angelus was always there, beneath the surface, patiently waiting for Angel's soul to slip away. "But didn't he give Buffy the amulet that Spike wore? The one that blasted all the uber-vamps into nothing but ash?"

"Mystical objects such as that often come at a price. I only wonder what Angel had to promise in return." He put his glasses back on and gave her a weak smile. "Or perhaps he simply wants to personally oversee Buffy's care."

Dawn nodded, but she couldn't help noticing that he'd avoided answering her first question.

"Hey, Dawn," said Vi, "we should probably get going before all this ice melts."

"You're right," said Giles. "Dawn, I'll see you later in Xander's room for the meeting. Vi, will you return here to keep an eye on Robin while I'm gone?"

"Of course, Mr. Giles… sir."

Vi and Dawn each grabbed a stack of buckets and headed out the door. They visited the injured girls first. A few of them had sustained major injuries, although most of that seemed to be from previous battles. Like Rona's broken arm. Even with her new Slayer powers, it was still going to be at least a week before she could use it. For others with broken ribs and dislocated limbs, there wasn't much they could do except make an ice pack from duct tape and plastic bags. Andrew had packed the medical supplies he thought they'd need in the field: bandages, antiseptic, pain killers, gauze. But the heavy duty stuff they'd left at the house.

"Hey, Vi," Dawn said as they turned the corner, "Do you think you can take care of the rest by yourself?"

"Sure," said Vi, adjusting the buckets in her arms to accommodate Dawn's stack. "If you want, we're gonna watch _American Idol_ in my room later. I'm so behind, I don't even know who's left. I hope Clay made it through."

"Maybe." As nice as the offer was, Dawn probably wouldn't go. "Oh, and don't forget to go back to Giles' when you're done with the rounds."

Vi nodded and continued on to the next room. A burst of laughter filled the air as the door opened for her, and Dawn watched her disappear into the warm, rosy glow of the room. Then she turned and headed back to her own room, letting out a small sigh. She might be the same age as most of the girls, even older than some, but she didn't fit in and never could. She wasn't a Slayer like them. And that was okay. Because she was a Scooby. She had Xander and Willow and Giles. And she had her sister.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she opened her door and called out, "Buffy?"

The room was dark and silent. She tiptoed into the room, placing the ice bucket on the bathroom counter as she passed by. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she could make out Buffy's form on the bed. She was so pale. Buffy had always been the stereotypical California girl, with her long blond hair and sun-kissed skin, while Dawn couldn't step outside without slathering tons of sunscreen on her fair skin and her hair was boring old brown. (Although she knew for a fact that some of Buffy's blond came from a bottle.) Now, however, as she clasped her sister's hand, she could barely tell the difference between them.

"Buffy?" she whispered again. "Can you hear me?"

There was only the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of her chest as an answer.

"Angel's going to be here soon. So, you should probably get up and fix your make-up because, to be honest, you look awful." Still no response. Buffy had passed out on the bus and hadn't woken up since. Xander had to carry her into the room, and she hadn't moved from where he laid her on the bed. "Okay, that was lame. I know. But I need you to wake up, Buffy. I need you to be okay."

She hastily wiped away a tear. Seeing her sister like this… It was too much like the last time, when Tara… The room had been dark, too, and she'd been so still and pale.

"You're gonna get through this, Buffy. Of course you are. You're the Slayer. And it's just a flesh wound." A smile broke out, almost unconsciously. It had always been one of their favorite jokes. "Actually, you're not _the_ Slayer anymore. You're just _a_ Slayer. But that's okay because now you'll have more time to be my sister. And we don't have to be stuck on the Hellmouth. You can show me the world. Just like you promised. And _I_ promise not to give _you_ the silent treatment for trying to send me away.

"How could you do that, by the way? Did you really think that the possibility of seeing Sam Winchester was gonna make me forget that my sister was fighting for her life down in Sunnydale? Please. I'm so over him." She wasn't. He was still the one that she compared every other guy to. How could she not? He was as handsome as Xander and as smart as Willow. She even kept a picture of him tucked in her diary back home. "I mean, sure it would have been nice to show up at Stanford and let him see that I'm not the same little girl I was two years ago. A silly little girl with a silly little crush."

He and Dean had stayed at her house for a month or so after Buffy's funeral. But she hadn't exactly been at her best what with her mother and sister being recently deceased and all. And that three year gap seemed so much bigger when she was (almost) fifteen and he was eighteen. Now she was going to be a junior, although she still wasn't clear on whether she'd passed or not. Hopefully, Principal Wood could clarify that if— when he woke up. Anyways, she'd grown up a lot since then. She survived two almost-Apocalypses. She'd had her first kiss. (Sam didn't count because he hadn't kissed her back, and she'd kinda ambushed him anyways.) She'd even had her first heartbreak when she found out that the guy she'd kissed was actually a vampire and she'd had to stake him. It must run in the family.

"Buffy, I want… I need to tell you– I mean, I never got the chance to—" She paused, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. After Tara had died and Willow left to get better, Dawn had started to see a therapist. It had been weird at first because there was so much she couldn't tell him, but he was able to figure out that she had a lot of trouble communicating with her sister. He'd suggested talking to her while she slept. It was kinda creepy – and nearly impossible to do when her sister was the Slayer – but she didn't know how else she was going to say it. "I'm sorry, okay. I never should have kicked you out. It was a horrible, awful thing to do, and I was wrong. So wrong. I just thought that it would— Everyone was so angry and scared. And you were talking about going back to the vineyard. Xander had just came home from the hospital! Even Willow—"

She choked back a sob, tears falling freely off her face. How could she ever expect Buffy to forgive her? They were family. If anyone was going to stick by Buffy, it should have been her. She should have stood up for her sister. She should have trusted her. Instead, she'd sided with everyone against her, forcing her out of her own home – in the middle of the freaking Apocalypse!

"I'll find a way to make it up to you." She pressed her lips to the back of Buffy's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I promise."

She got up, swiping her hands across her face, but she knew it would do little to hide the evidence of her ugly crying. First stop, the bathroom so she could wipe her nose and wash her face, maybe rub one of those ice cubes on her eyelids to make them look less puffy. And then what? She didn't want to stay here in the dark with her comatose sister. And she'd already decided that hanging around the Slayerettes was bound to give her even more of an inferiority complex. Thankfully, she knew someone who could make her feel that being ordinary was something special.

o)O(o

"Dawn?" Andrew's face peered from behind the door. "Oh, thank God."

He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room, closing the door behind him. She'd sort of forgotten that he was sharing the room with Xander. "Andrew, what's with the excess twitchies?"

"It's Xander," he said, wringing his hands. She didn't think people actually did that until she met Andrew. "He's—"

"Xander!" Her heart stopped when she turned and saw his sneakered feet sticking out from the space between the beds. She ran forward, afraid of what she would find. He was lying face-down, his arms bent and his eyepatch askew. _No, _she thought, _not him. _Everyone else had left her at one time or another. Everyone but him. She couldn't bear the thought of los—

"Dawnster!" He rolled over, or kind of flopped over, and struggled to pull himself into a sitting position.

"Xander, are you—" She took a step back as the wave of odor hit her nose. "Is he drunk?"

"I packed Giles' Scotch in the medical kit," said Andrew, holding up a bottle of amber liquid. "I thought, maybe, we might need to use it as a disinfectant."

"You mean when we ran out of _actual_ disinfectant?" She gestured to the hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, and assorted bottles lined up on top of the dresser. He shrugged, lifting his hands helplessly in the air. She wanted to scream her frustrations out on him, to remind him that she was only sixteen and she shouldn't have to deal with this. And then she remembered that Anya had helped him pack the bag. "You should probably take this back to Giles. It's still half full, and I'm guessing he could use it, too."

Andrew nodded, shooting her a weak smile before slinking out the door. She went to the bathroom and filled a glass with water.

"Hey, Xander," she said, handing him the glass. She sat down across from him, her back resting against the other bed.

"Hey!" He took a sip. Confusion spread over his face. "This isn't Scotch. It's water."

"Time to sober up. The others are going to be here soon."

"Thanks for taking care of me, Dawnie."

"It's no problem." Her lips curved into a smile as she watched him drink. His dark brown hair was ruffed up, too short to be tousled. She wished he'd let it grow out again.

"I should have taken better care of her," he said staring at the glass in his hand.

"Xand—"

"If I'd a been there, she wouldn't a died protecting Andrew." His eye traveled from the glass to her face, and her breath hitched in her throat. Though Caleb had taken one of his brown eyes, a fact she was still getting used to, Anya's death had taken the light. "But then you wouldn't be here, and Buffy woulda killed me."

She bit down on her lower lip, using the pain to stifle a sob. "I'm sorry, Xander."

"For what?"

"It's my fault that Anya's dead. If I hadn't– if I wasn't—"

"Hey." He crawled to her and pulled her into his arms. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm glad you're alive. If anyone's to blame here, it's me. I'm the reason she came to Sunnydale in the first place."

"But she was real. She was a real person. An ex-demony person, but still..."

"You _are_ real." He lifted her chin, staring down into her face. "You're real to me. You're Dawn of the Smart Mouth and Sticky Fingers. You're the girl that I watched grow into a beautiful woman. And you have the biggest blue eyes I have ever…"

She'd never, ever been this close to him before. Even after she'd gotten over her crush and stopped writing pages and pages in her diary about him. And now she knew – her childhood fantasies had never been more wrong. There was two days' worth of stubble on his cheeks, and his lips were chapped. There were lines and scars, little imperfections that told her that this wasn't a fantasy, that this was better than anything she'd dreamed of. She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together—

"Ugh, I think I'm gonna throw up," Xander said, pushing off her and hurrying to the bathroom.

_Of course_, she thought, dropping her head back. She pounded it a few more times, wishing the bed behind her was a wall instead, before she scooped up Xander's glass and got to her feet.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked through the bathroom door. Between the retching and the flushing, she wasn't sure if he heard her. She called again, but he still didn't answer. Shaking her head, she decided to clean up the room and get it ready for the meeting.

She'd just about finished when she heard a knock on the door. "Willow," she said after peering through the peephole, "you came early! I could totally use some help. Xander's—Kennedy? Hi."

"Hey, Dawnie!" Kennedy leaned against the doorframe, her fingers linked casually with Willow's.

"It's Dawn."

Kennedy shrugged and sauntered into the room. Willow waited in the doorway, an apologetic smile on her face. "I thought it would be good to get a, um, perspective from one of the new Slayers."

Dawn crossed her arms in front of her. She wondered how long it had taken Willow to come up with that excuse. Not that it was a bad idea, but Vi and Rona had been around as long as Kennedy.

"I couldn't say no. I mean, just look at her." They walked into the room where Kennedy had settled onto a bed, with her boots still on, and was flipping through the channels. Dawn didn't see the appeal, but Willow had this soft smile on her face. "Anyways, what's wrong with Xander?"

Another bout of throwing up saved Dawn the trouble of explaining. "_That's_ what's wrong with Xander. Which I can totally handle, but I was hoping you could check on Buffy, maybe nudge her healing along?"

"Oh, Dawnie, I'm still pretty wiped from earlier. That spell took a lot out of me. Maybe after the meeting?"

"Sure."

Dawn left them, hoping they weren't planning on getting too comfortable, and went to check on Xander. A wet towel for his face and another glass of water had him feeling a little better. At least, he looked better. She hoped so because the muffled voices from outside sounded a lot like Giles' angry voice and Andrew's whiny voice. Well, more whiny than usual.

"—don't just drink an eighteen year old Macallan straight out of the bottle!" Giles waved the bottle around, his hand gripped tightly around the neck, as he stomped past Andrew. "Mcclellands, I'd understand, or a Glenlivet, but this? It's almost criminal."

"Sorry, Mr. Giles," said Andrew. "But, hey, at least it's here instead of buried beneath Sunnydale."

"It was a gift from a coven for participating in their Beltane ritual last year," Giles said, looking at the bottle with an unusual amount of fondness. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the others in the room. "Dawn, is everyone here?"

"Umm, I think we're just waiting on Faith."

"Right here, yo." Faith's hand gripped the edge of the door just before it closed and pushed it back open. "Man, remind me not to get locked up in a Cali prison next time. That shit ruined my vocabulary."

"Which was so stellar to begin with," Dawn muttered under her breath.

"Kitty's got claws." Faith grinned, her eyes lazily looking Dawn over, sizing her up. "Keep scratchin', lemme know when it makes you feel better."

Dawn looked away, her cheeks flush with shame. "Come on in."

"Hey," said Faith, grabbing Dawn's wrist, "how's B doin'?"

"She's—" Dawn fought the urge to pull away, reminding herself that Faith had changed, that she was trying to be a good person. "She's still sleeping."

"She'll pull through, D." Faith gave her wrist a light squeeze before letting go. "Hell, I went through twice as much trauma as she did, and here I am, better than new."

"I know." Dawn didn't tell her that she'd felt safe when Faith was in a coma. She didn't tell her how long it had taken her to get over the torture and fear that the rogue Slayer had put her and her mother through. She knew that Faith was trying, and there was genuine concern in her eyes. "It's just… seeing her like this is hard. But thanks for asking, Faith."

The bathroom door opened, and Xander walked out, wastebasket in hand. "Shouldn't someone check on Buffy?"

"We can't do anything more for her," Willow said. "She should rest until Angel's med team gets here."

Dawn followed Xander and Faith into the room where the others had arranged themselves in a half circle around Giles, who was leaning against the dresser, the medical supplies pushed aside. She sat on the bed with Andrew and Xander, figuring it was better than being the third wheel next to Kennedy and Willow. Faith must have thought the same thing because she just stayed on her feet and leaned against the wall.

"Look," said Giles. "I know we wanted to wait until Buffy was awake to decide what to do next, but perhaps we could discuss the issue amongst ourselves before presenting the options to her."

Dawn had been dreading this moment. She knew, of course, that she couldn't go back. She'd watched the Hellmouth swallow her school, the coffee shop where she used to meet Tara, the movie theater where she'd dragged Buffy to watch _Anastasia_ with her a thousand times when they first moved to Sunnydale. A part of her wished they'd been able to drive by her house on the way out of town, but another part was glad she didn't see it ruined. She never even got a chance to say goodbye to Mr. Gordo, the stuffed pig she'd "adopted" from her sister.

"I think we should find the other Slayers," Willow said. "I can't pinpoint them, exactly, but I can feel their energy. There's thousands of them, all over the world."

"Road trip, anyone?" said Andrew. "Only this time, can we stop for fries?"

"What do _you_ think we should do, Giles?" Dawn asked.

"I think we should head to Cleveland. We can pick up any girls we find along the way. I have some funds we can use to purchase a building, start a training facility."

"So that's it?" Kennedy sat forward, scowling. "You aren't even going to consider Willow's suggestion to find the others?"

"And take them where?" Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his hand across his eyes. "We have no base of operation. Sunnydale is gone. The Watchers' Council is gone."

"And there are thousands of girls out there with new found Slayer powers," Faith said, her tone even and matter-of-fact, "with no one to keep them in check."

"I realize this," said Giles, his shoulders sagging. "Listen, as much as I'd like to help each and every one of them, we have neither the funds nor the resources to go around the world looking for Slayers. We'll have to trust—"

"What if we did?" Dawn had an idea forming in her head. "You said the Council was gone, like physically gone, but what about their accounts? They probably have a bank account somewhere, and banks are all ones and zeroes these days."

"Dawn," Willow said, "that's brilliant."

"I'm not a senior member of the Council," said Giles. "I wouldn't have access to those accounts."

"You don't have to." Willow straightened up, bubbling with enthusiasm. "I may not be as good a hacker as I once was, but I think Vi said she's got a real knack for it. We can put the Council funds in your name. You deserve it, don't you think, being the only Watcher for all these Slayers?"

"I– well, thank you." He smiled at her, flustered and grateful for her praise. "Unfortunately, the Council has traditionally chosen—"

"Screw tradition, Giles," said Faith. "I dunno know if you've noticed, but we kinda changed the rules back in Sunnydale. And I, for one, don't need a bunch of tight-ass Englishmen telling me how to be a Slayer."

"Faith, you kinda went crazy and killed a bunch of people," Willow said.

"Also a valid point." Faith shrugged, a slight frown on her lips. "Look, all I know is that there are a bunch of girls juiced up on Slayer powers, having these weird-ass dreams, and most of them don't have anyone to tell them why. And if we're not careful, some of them might end up like me."

"You're right, Faith," said Giles. "Willow, see what you and Vi can do about those accounts."

"Really?" Faith asked.

"We still need a location where the girls can learn and train. The Hellmouth in Cleveland will provide ample opportunities for them." Giles' mouth twisted into a wry smile as he looked at Faith. "But there are girls that need our help now, and we would be remiss in neglecting them. And, for the record, I think you're turning out to be a fine Slayer."

With that, the meeting was adjourned, and Willow reached across the empty space to squeeze Dawn's hand, sending an electric shock through her. "Woah, sorry about that. Residual energy or something. Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that was a great idea."

"Criminal, but great," said Faith. She stretched and started inching towards the door. "I'm gonna grab some fresh air."

Dawn watched her palm Giles' bottle of Scotch as she walked out. Luckily, he was occupied with Andrew asking if he was still their prisoner or if he was allowed to quest for Slayers. Supervised, of course.

"So," Xander said, scooting over to sit beside her, "what are you gonna do?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She batted her eyes, playfully. Then she blushed, remembering the almost-kiss and how she might just maybe still have a crush on Xander. "I'm gonna go with Giles. At least until Buffy's better, and then maybe I can convince her to let me tag along during the summer while she scours the country for Slayers. What do you think?"

"You and Buffy on a road trip?" He smiled, nudging her shoulder with his. "Just promise me one thing. No _Thelma and Louise_ moments."

"I don't think either of us can say no to a naked, cowboy Brad Pitt. I don't care how old he is."

"Well," he said, chuckling, "maybe we should have you girls look elsewhere and leave the cowboys to the lesbian couple over there."

"Who says we have to stay in the U.S.? Maybe we'll travel around the European countryside."

"Eurotrip? Sounds like a plan."

"What about you, Xander?" She noticed that he'd been silent through the meeting.

"Me?" He looked down at the glass of water clutched between his hands. "I was thinking of going to Africa."

Her heart dropped. "Africa? But that's so far."

"Buffy said it's where the origins of the Slayer come from." He ran his hand through his hair. "There's still so much we don't know about, so many questions left unanswered. The Scythe, the Guardians, the Shadowmen. We know the how and why of the First Slayer, but what does that mean for the rest of them?

"And, to be honest, I need some time and space. I miss her, Dawn. I miss Anya, and I can't see you guys without missing her, without seeing an empty space where she should be. Hell, I was sitting in this meeting wondering when she was going to jump in and say something painfully honest in the most tactless way possible."

"I'm sorry, Xander." She felt the last tendrils of her crush disintegrate under the weight of his grief. Instead, she slid her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder, giving him what little comfort she could.

* * *

_Up next_: **Buffy – **A call to an old friend brings up more than she bargained for.

**A/N:** Sorry for the lack of updates, it took me a while to get used to writing in Dawn's voice.


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